just do quantities and quantities of stupid,
commonplace things, like mistaking the young faculty for freshmen and
expecting Miss Raymond to help them look up their English references. I
just wish they'd think of something original," ended Polly dolefully.

"Why don't you make up something?" asked Madeline.

Polly stared. "Oh, I don't think that would do at all. The grinds are
supposed to be true, aren't they? They'd be sure to find out and then
they'd always dislike us." Polly smiled luminously. "I've got a good
many freshmen friends," she explained.

"Which means violet-bestowing crushes, I suppose," said Madeline
severely. "You shouldn't encourage that sort of thing, Polly. You're too
young."

"I'm not a bit younger than Lucile," Polly defended herself, "and they
all worship her." Polly giggled. "Only instead of violets, they send her
Gibson girls, with touching notes about her looking like one."

"Come now," said Lucile calmly. "That's quite enough. Let Madeline tell
us how to get some good grinds."

Madeline considered, frowning. "Why if you won't make up," she said at
last, "the only thing to do is to lay traps for them. Or no--I'll tell
you what--let's give an initiation party."

"A what?" chorused her guests.

"Oh, you know--hazing, the men would call it; only of course we'll have
nice little amusing stunts that couldn't frighten a fly. Is anything
doing to-night?"

"In the house, you mean?" asked Lucile. "Not a thing. But if you want
our room----"

"Of course we do," interposed Madeline calmly. "It's the only
decent-sized one in the house. Go and straighten it up, and let this be
a lesson to you to keep it in order hereafter. Polly, you invite the
freshmen for nine o'clock. I'll get some more sophomores and seniors,
and some costumes. Come back here to dress in half an hour."

"Goodness," said the stately Lucile, slipping out of her nest of
pillows. "How you do rush things through, Madeline."

Madeline smiled reminiscently. "I suppose I do," she admitted. "Ever
since I can remember, I've looked upon life as a big impromptu stunt. I
got ready for a year abroad once in half an hour, and I gave the
American ambassador to Italy what he said was the nicest party he'd ever
been to on three hours' notice, one night when mother was ill and father
went off sketching and forgot to come in until it was time to dress. Oh,
it's just practice," said Madeline easily,--"practice and being of a
naturally hopeful